


Demon King

by chewysugar



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types, Trick 'r Treat (2008)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon, Referenced violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Michael has suffered with loneliness since the day a childhood friend was taken from him. Will he find this old companion when he returns to Haddonfield?





	Demon King

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't listened to the Boys N Ghouls podcast.

Loneliness was as second nature to him as the changing of the seasons. Never in his life had he wanted to be among others, and so it was that the sudden ache at his own seclusion confused him. As he walked through darkness and dead leaves, he felt the solitude claw at him—ripping like a knife through flesh. It hadn’t always been this way. In the distant days of childhood, there had been another, not a sister, but a child like himself: someone he’d known and grown so fond of that their sudden separation had hurt worse than death.

Michael couldn’t remember quite what had taken the boy in the orange pajamas from him at the tender age of six—only that it had happened on Halloween; it had happened in Haddonfield, and there had been no coming back. He remembered hearing about a bus driving off the road and into a rock quarry; had remembered a grief so profound that it had rent his young soul to shreds. In its wake, darkness, and nothing more.

At first, Michael thought that he could quench the nothing with bloodshed, as he’d done that night all those years ago. But it had only made the numbing emptiness worse. Endless days and stretching nights locked in Smith’s Grove with nothing but nothing to keep him company. Loomis, the perfect idiot that he was, hadn’t seen the empty space—he’d only seen the eyes behind the mask. He hadn’t reached out as Michael had wanted him to do in those early days of drowning in black and death. Fanaticism had driven the man to the brink, and he’d blamed it all on Michael.

When Michael had found the opportunity to flee, he’d taken it. There was something out in the world, something greater than the void within. All he needed was to find it—to draw near the jack-o-lantern glow.

Lost, confused, and outrunning the abyss of darkness, he’d done everything to find that tantalizing call of a place to belong. It had fueled him, feeding off his fear, causing his rage to grow like an impenetrable swath of fog. He had killed again—yes. And the rage had driven him back home, back to Haddonfield. If he could but start again, put himself back in that space where it had all started, then perhaps he could be fulfilled.

Perhaps he could find his friend—find that ghost from the past, now grown and thriving and ignorant to the friendship they’d shared—to those long fall days spent running into leaf piles and telling scary stories.

But there had been nothing but disappointment—a town so fixated on the illusion of itself that it was blind to its own reality. Men too fascinated with satiating the fire in their loins and women too consumed with themselves to pay attention to the children. He saw the little hellions run amok, left unattended to torment each other and disregard their own burgeoning lives. None among them were like that friend he’d made, the one who had shown him the delight of masks and given him reverence for this of all nights.

A cold wind chased away the balmy Halloween afternoon, and Michael moved in with it. He avenged himself on the sister who’d been too ignorant to take care of him; who had cared not a chocolate coin for the fact that her own little brother’s best friend had been left to die in a slowly sinking school bus. In death, she could not escape from him. Yet even the act of desecration did nothing to abate the sense that he was nothing more than a pinprick of blood in a sea of October dark.

Further on the fear and anger had pushed him. None in Haddonfield seemed to remember what had taken place that awful day fifteen years prior. The memory of Myers had been wiped out in lieu of status quo—of keeping the dream of suburbia alive.

Michael had never been one to dwell on dreams. He lived with nightmares only. 

As Halloween night drew on, Michael prowled his way through Haddonfield like a shadow. He followed those ignorant fools who dared misplace the care of their charges; he surprised them, haunting homes they thought to be safe—proving the existence of the Boogeyman to be more than just a frightening story.

And still, it did nothing to abate the crying child still shuddering in the darkness of his heart. Still, he could not find that friend of his days in the warmth of sunlight.

At least until he’d seen the other boy, the one in the care of the young woman who hadn’t profaned in her act as caretaker. The boy had been dressed in orange, had felt in awe of Halloween night. Michael had wanted to know the boy, to get a closer look. But the girl hadn’t let him—she’d fought against him with a might and mettle that Michael hadn’t anticipated. She’d bled him, taken the mask from him—let the boy run off into the darkness of night.

Just as the anger had reached a new height, Loomis had returned. The bullets ripped into Michael’s flesh, stinging and hard and cold. He’d fallen, long, into darkness and, at last, onto cold hard, ground.

He lay there only moments, the darkness inside his body healing the holes left by Loomis’s gun. Part of him, the part tied to that lost, lonely, frightened child, wanted it to end—wanted to reunite with his lost friend. Then the blackness, cold and cruel as ever, had snuffed out that foolish light. He would only ever be alone—only ever be angry.

Cloaked in numbness, he rose shakily to his feet. He knew it was still Halloween—knew that he would live to see more. At that moment, all he wanted was to put as much distance between himself and this hateful town as possible.

He walked down deserted sidewalks. Dead leaves hissed along the ground as the breeze picked them up in its cruel hands. How long he went through the night he did not know. Every now and then, the leering face of a jack-o-lantern would shine from the darkness, and he would stop and think about the last time he’d truly loved this holiday—when he’d had a real friend.

His walk took him near the older part of Haddonfield. As he made his way down the sidewalk, he felt an acute awareness of something with its eyes on him. It wasn’t a prickling feeling of warning—there was scarcely a thing that Michael Myers—or rather, the evil that had taken root in him—feared.

When at last he looked behind, however, the darkness skirted away for a brief moment.

Michael walked, slow as ever, towards the little figure standing at the other end of the street. His legs felt weak—the memory of his recent, numerous injuries caught up with him, and he felt true pain for the first time.

The small, childlike figure stared up at him. It wore a burlap sack over its head, with a smile stitched among the beige threading. Dressed in faded orange pyjamas, the boy—for boy Michael knew it to be—held a small pillowcase in one tiny little hand.

Memories surged through Michael; a heart he once thought dead to the world raced in expectation as he looked into the boy’s eyes. There was something more than just familiar about him—something beyond recognition. He knew this to be the friend he’d lost, the one whose death had driven him to mad grief over. But he also knew that there was something in this shade standing before him alike to Michael as he was now—beyond the darkness and bloodshed.

The boy was the boy of his childhood, and he was Halloween itself.

A voice long turned hoarse from years of disuse whispered one word, all but lost among the sibilant wind and the rush of dried leaves.

“Sam.”

The boy smiled even wider. One little hand reached into the bag and pulled out a lollipop wrapped in cellophane. He held it out to the Boogeyman in a gesture of unflinching kindness.

Michael took the treat, tilting his head to the side. Sam gave a glad little clap, and then held up both arms.

Beneath his own mask, Michael smiled as well. He took Sam in his arms, and lifted him over his head. Two small legs draped over his shoulders. Together they walked through the darkness, through the wind—towards the promise of terrible tricks and treats of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
